It’s a thought that I have had many times before, and yet it hit home recently from a new, calm and objective perspective . . . .’if you haven’t had it, you won’t (can’t?) get it!’

I feel so often, when people pose the question “How are you?” they’re not seeking a genuine heartfelt answer. They’re just conforming to some kind of socially expected contrivance of Western greetings. And sometimes (for shits & giggles), person-depending, I give them an honest response, (because I’ve spent years working on being my authentic self) just for the secondary gain of seeing them squirm under a sudden pressure to engage in a slightly more real conversation. Which often looks like sympathy, platitudes and a reason to have to leave or change the subject. Fortunately, I myself am in a place where after years of self-development work and 2 amazing counsellors, I can either smile, or roll my eyes. But not be impacted by the lack of interest &/or empathy.

There was a time when this would have devastated me and I’m keenly aware that there are so many for whom this level of response will still be internalised as rejection; confirmation of their lack of value or worth. Bad enough when it comes from a stranger. Heart-breaking when it’s all you receive day in, day out.

Depression is hard. Hard for the person living it, and unfathomable for those listening with little to no experience of it. Possibly because it’s so illogical. Imagine the conversation between Adam who is struggling and Beau who has lived through loss and grief, but never prolonged depression:

Beau: Hey Ad, how are you?

Adam: Not so good?

Beau: No?

Adam: No. I’ve been struggling with depression and it’s all getting a bit much.

Beau: Shit, sorry! I didn’t know. What are you depressed over?

Adam: Fuck knows!? I just feel like shit all the time.

Beau: But there must be a reason. Is it because you lost your job?

Adam: It’s the reason I lost my job.

Beau:  You did lose Aunt Sarah last year. Is that it?

Adam: That definitely didn’t help. [reluctantly] But it was there before that.

Beau: Oh! (she pauses, thinking) So something from before then.

Adam: Don’t worry. It’s probably not one thing, just lots of things that have built up over the years.

Beau: So something from when we were kids? But we always had so much fun!

Adam: [sighing, wistfully, resigned] I know.

Beau: [enthused] Well I know what will cheer you up. Our old uni lot are meeting at the weekend. Come out!

Adam: [with half a forced smile] I’ll pass this time.

Beau: [playfully] C’mon. This is what you need – the old crew, a few drinks. It’ll be a laugh.

Adam: [looking visibly tired now] I know you’re trying to help. But I don’t want to be cheered up. And I don’t feel up to going out. Sorry.

Beau: [confused] Why not?

Adam: [rubbing his forehead] I don’t even know. I just know that won’t help and the thought of it makes me feel worse if I’m honest.

Beau: [frustration growing throughout] So you’re depressed, but you don’t know why. You’re not sure when it started – likely when we were kids even though we were happy. Other things aren’t the cause, but made it worse. And I’m trying to offer you something that’ll make you feel better, but you don’t want that either?

Adam: [dejected and barely audible] Pretty much.

Beau: [softer, but assured] Well I know they say that exercise helps. Come to the gym with me tomorrow. We can walk there – get some fresh air. . . .?

Adam: [making a lot of effort to keep the defeat and frustration from his voice] Maybe another time. I know what you’re saying. I just don’t have the energy right now. I think I’m best at home. Sorry. Again.

As the conversation ends and they part ways. Beau is exasperated and Adam feels ashamed and retreats further into himself.

Photo by Mykhailo Volkov on Unsplash

Simplified for effect, but for me this illustrates so many conversations I had over the years that I was possessed by depression. Often, I have noticed, if you make yourself vulnerable enough to share how you feel, very well-meaning people will try to drag you out of it. This doesn’t make them (or Beau) the villain of the piece, even though it often leaves the person with depression feeling worse.

The way that I see it, our culture is all about rushing. We’re raised and conditioned to always be working towards the next goal or milestone. At school we have to focus on grades for college, at college, it’s which university? From here, which placement and then job. As children we want to rush to be adults, asking ourselves how long before we can have sex, drive a car, drink alcohol, etc. When with a partner, it’s when do we get married, buy a house, have a dog and then a child, then another child, start our own business, and on and on. Always focus on what’s next. It’s like we’re in a race to our deaths! So I suppose it’s only natural (though neither ideal or empathic) that when we see others faltering in this rush by being hit with something as debilitating as depression can be, we want to chivvy them up so as they don’t fall out of the race, or – heaven forbid – make us lose our place in it for a moment. As though taking the time to meet that person where they are and spend quality time with them could bring you down, meaning you and yours could suddenly lose your place in the race.

You might therefore think that the best option, if you have depression, could be to share with others who have it, as they are more likely to ‘get it’. And (from my experience) for a time this may be cathartic. But what I realised was the problem for me, was that being depressed naturally makes you  quite self-involved. That darkness you live with can be so all-consuming that you don’t replenish yourself enough to have anything to give away. You might try for a time, but it’s like always breathing out without ever breathing in. It leads to burnout, exhaustion and is unsustainable. So you may find yourself breaking away from those people too.

 The happy ones can’t pull you out of it so they have fallen by the way. The depressed ones drain your limited resources, so you separate from them too. It begins to become clear why depression is so isolating.

I found that the only relationships that I could maintain were ones that involved such infrequent contact that I could force myself to be incongruent (to ‘fake it’) for the brief time that we spent together. Yet this in turn could be so exhausting that my urge to meet that person again would diminish after each encounter.

And so it grew to the point where I would make plans (because it felt nice to have someone who wanted to see me) but then cancel them at the 11^th hour as the reality of leaving the house loomed closer and I felt worn out by the mere prospect of as little as showering.

I would hide behind the more well recognised illnesses – a headache, a migraine, menstrual cramps, an upset stomach –  things that others would understand. Ailments that wouldn’t elicit the eyeroll I both feared and anticipated.

People who haven’t struggled like this don’t understand the duality of simultaneously wanting so desperately to have something to do, and someone to do it with, whilst also becoming so reluctant to do it as the time to act creeps up on you.

If you sacrifice what your body is telling you and push yourself (something others were ALWAYS telling me to do amidst my struggles) and do the uncomfortable thing, then others will be happier with you, but you feel (or at least I felt)  that I’d let myself down for not listening to that inner voice which told me not to go. The worst case I found would be when I’d ignore my wants (which does nothing but diminish self-worth and self-esteem), go out (to people-please/regain some favour), but then get criticised  for being “miserable”, not the “life and soul” or a “wallflower” or a myriad of other flippant insults. Alternatively, I would drink alcohol to boost my confidence and  feel more relaxed, but would get totally carried away and end up doing  something regrettable. Both of the above resulted in deeper shame, even less self-worth and a desire to stay in bed for the foreseeable. Constantly feeling I was letting others down and not conforming to a previous version of myself who my friends preferred, and who I myself was mourning, only added to how negative and low I felt.

No longer depressed now, I can see clearly why friends, family and colleagues get frustrated with people battling with depression. And make no mistake it can be a battle. They may feel like they’ve lost the person that they knew and will try many things (tough love, straight talking, invites to social events, food & exercise recommendations) to get that person back. What they seem to miss is that you have lost that person too. 

This is why to me it feels like a possession. Something sneaks up on you, starts driving your body around and thinking your thoughts but it isn’t the you that you know or recognise. You don’t recall when it crept into you, and you’re still in there, dormant, but awake. A spectator in your own life while this spirit that is depression fucks up your life, your job and your relationship before your very eyes, with you incapable of doing a damn thing about it.

You don’t know how or why, but like a thief it stole little parts of you over the years, and one morning you wake up realising you’re just a fragment of the person you used to be. This loss is so great and you also have the confusion and responsibility of that loss on top of whatever was originally causing your depression.

So can what was lost be re-found? I can only speak for myself (and clients I’ve worked with) and say, sadly, no. However this doesn’t mean that we can’t heal and recover and become a new version of ourselves. If philosophers say you can “never step in the same river twice” then I suppose that we can never be the same person twice. I still miss the more light-hearted, carefree, more extroverted (I say more. I was always an introvert, just less so) person I was. However I love the  older, more authentic, self-aware, boundaried person that I have grown into. She is a better counsellor and counselling tutor than I could ever have been and I can help more people as a result of what I experienced. And for that I am grateful.

I believe that I finally moved myself through and out of my depression partly by writing & journalling (this helps me process things) and partly through counselling. Done well, counselling is so much more than tea and sympathy. A good counsellor will not try to move you out of your depression (unless you choose CBT) until you are ready. They will show you empathy and seek to understand you no matter how many weeks you show up presenting the same concern. They will not tire of you or show frustration. They will not shame you or push you to find reasons. They will not dictate that you take medication or try a different food/exercise regime. They may (and I do) occasionally make suggestions, but the client knows that there will be no judgement whether these are acted on or not. When a good counsellor asks you “How are you?” you can be honest and trust that they really want to know, to understand and that they care and have your best interests at heart.

Please always choose a registered, qualified and insured counsellor.

With love, Dyanne.